Mending Matters
by SilverWolf7
Summary: Sequel to Moutling Madness.  Crowley doesn't like his wings touched and tells Aziraphale why.  Aziraphale decides it is his duty to help him.  Perhaps the tiniest hint of slash.  OOC warning.


Disclaimer - As per always, the characters aren't mine, but Terry Pratchett's and Neil Gaiman's. Shame really.

A/N - The continuation of Moulting Madness. And once again with the M words, heh. This one is a bit more angsty, as I have a fondness for seeing hurt/comfort stories after a certain demon has been tortured, or a certain angel.

Unfortunately the Bentley does not make an appearance here. Anyone else love that car?

Mending Matters

With nerves flaring, Crowley opened the locked door to the old bookshop and held it open for the angel to walk through. They had just finished lunch and had decided it was easier to come here than go to his apartment. It was the first day to their new rule on the Arrangement.

Aziraphale swept past him, and went to the room at the back of the shop, unfurling his wings and spreading them wide, stretching out kinks from keeping them cramped for too long.

The new feathers, pristine white, almost sparkled in the dust filled room and Crowley wondered how one was to keep them this clean in such conditions. Yet again, it seemed like Aziraphale loved this infernal dust like he loved his blessed books. Too much to move it.

He walked over to the angel and began doing what was asked of him. Grooming the wings. They felt soft to the touch, much like his own, and for some odd reason that surprised him. As always, he was very gentle with the wings, not wanting to hurt them in any way. Much like he was with his own.

How he could keep comparing these white wings with his own black ones was beyond him. They didn't look alike at all.

Shaking his head he finished with one wing and went to the other. It jerked under his touch, and a noise that sounded strangely like a giggle escaped Aziraphale. Great! The angel was ticklish at the tip of his right wing. A wicked grin crept across Crowley's face, and stored the information away to use at another time.

All in all, it took an hour on each wing, making sure they looked as neat and tidy and _clean_ as possible.

It was now his turn, and Aziraphale was turning to him expectantly. The nervousness he had felt as he had entered the shop returned ten-fold, but he let his wings out and stretched them, before giving them a gentle shake. He had cancelled last week and had not done it himself. His wings were, in his opinion, a mess. Still, they were neater than Aziraphale's would normally be.

Aziraphale reached out, and as soon as his hands reached the black feathers, he went on the defensive, pushing his wings out of the way and glaring. An angry hiss passed his lips. The angel looked thoroughly surprised.

He calmed himself down long enough to loosen the awkward position his wings had taken on. "Sorry. Reaction was bad."

Aziraphale looked at him for a long time, before trying again, reaching for the small feathers that dotted the top of the bone. Again, he hissed and got his wings out of the way. He flinched afterwards, knowing that he didn't want to be going all...snakish on the angel.

"Are you alright?" he was asked shortly afterwards. He tried to smile, but it came out a grimace instead.

"Yeah. I now remember the reason why no one but me touches my wings, well at least the top part of 'em."

Not asking him what he meant by that, Aziraphale nodded a bit confused and reached lower, to the long flight feathers instead. While Crowley's first instinct was to hit the angel, he reigned that in and instead stood still, allowing the gentle touch.

It was comforting, yet frightening all at the same time. After a few minutes of the gentle touch, his brain began to let him relax. He then noticed that it felt good to have someone do this for him since he had Fallen.

He enjoyed it until those clever fingers worked their way to bone and he froze.

"Er, Crowley? Why are your wings...ridged? I didn't think the wings changed shape, only colour."

He brought them in closer to his body, and tried to get Aziraphale off. "Go away, angel. I can do the other myself."

"Do you fly much, lately? I feel as though there are eyes on me, human eyes, every time I do."

Why did Aziraphale have to bring this up?

"I...can't fly."

A tiny gasp was the first aknowledgement recieved from that out of the blue confession.

"But...you used to. What happened?"

Crowley turned around, not because he felt more comfortable facing the angel - he didn't! - but he felt he owed the angel an explanation. And if they were to do this on a regular basis, he may as well start now. Being honest sometimes, that is.

"When I Fell, I got up the nerve to ask another who Fell with me to groom me. Instead, when I had my back turned, he acted on his new demonic feelings and broke the bones in both wings in a dozen places. It hurt like hell, may I add. Worse even. I was refused healing and they mended wrong. I tried flying when I was put on earth in a human body, but they just broke every time I tried. It's the weight you see. Too much pressure on them."

He sighed loudly. "Sometimes, I just wish to stay in my snake body, but it is much easier to _tempt_ in a human one. It's what I'm good at."

Aziraphale was staring at him with wide blue eyes and a look that screamed pity. "Oh, my dear boy, I am dreadfully sorry. What a horrible thing to have happened. Perhaps I would be able to fix them for you, though with our opposing natures, it will probably hurt."

He tried to keep the hopeful look off of his face, but failed. "You would do this for me, angel?" he asked, barely believing it.

"Of course. We have our Agreement. Arrangement. Whatever you want to call it, and I would like to think of us as friends."

He couldn't help it. Crowley smiled. Not the usual kind of smirk, or wicked smile he usually did, but a nice, friendly one. "Yeah, friends."

He let Aziraphale walk up behind him and lay his hands on the bony part of his wings. It wasn't the healing celestial power that hurt. No...it was his bones snapping again, only to be put back in the right places. Now, that hurt. But it was all washed away by the confident, healing powers that had to hurt before anything could happen. After a while it felt good.

He sat down, as his knees threatened to go out on him and just let the feeling take him over. It was like a little piece of Heaven was given back to him.

He couldn't remember falling asleep, but he woke a few hours later to find himself on Aziraphale's couch (he didn't have a bed, as he didn't bother with sleeping) with his wings neatly tucked up against his back, all clean and right again.

He jumped to his feet and spread them wide. He could straighten them. He laughed, he hadn't been able to do that in a long time.

He ran to the crumbly old stairs that led to the attic, which led to the roof and climbed out, willing to break every bone in his body to see if he could fly again.

He found Aziraphale waiting for him. The angel's wings were spread and he turned, a radiant smile on his lips. He held out one hand for him to take. His breath was taken away with the sight. Aziraphale was beautiful in that moment. Crowley froze. Did he just think that?

"I thought you would come up here when you woke."

And that was all that was said for the time being. He had given into the impulse to hug the angel, and it took a while for him to loosen his hold. He had always been horrible at fighting temptation. It was his main job here after all, who was he to go against that part of his nature?

"I'm...afraid to try," he whispered, hating the words, but saying them anyway.

"Take my hand. I will catch you if you fall," Aziraphale replied, a silly grin on his face. Crowly snorted in humour.

"A little too late for that."

But he took the hand offered to him and pra ... er, hoped that he didn't make a fool of himself.

Aziraphale jumped and kept himself afloat on the spot, waiting for him to do the same. Taking in a breath that would be crushed if he failed, he jumped and beat his wings down heavily. He lifted and clung to the angel, even though his wings seemed to be working fine.

They had risen a little further off the ground, hovering awkwardly in one spot. "Let go," whispered Aziraphale.

He did, so slowly that it took five minutes before he held nothing but hands again. He was staying up by his own power, his own wings. While he doubted he could do this for very long - he was tiring already - he thrilled in it.

A wild laugh escaped him and he flew once around the old building before landing on his feet again, too tired physically to continue. He had lost a lot of strength in the flight muscles he would have to rebuild.

He dropped to his knees again and buried his face in his hands as tears slowly trickled down his face. He was so damned _happy_. He was bordering on deliriously joyous. He was past that if these tears said anything. He was about ready to get to his feet, twirl in absurd cicles, and start singing prayers to God!

But his knees were thankfully too weak, he couldn't stop laughing, and his face was becoming wetter by the minute. If not joyous, he was definitely delirious. Or delusional.

A pair of arms wrapped around him then, followed shortly by a pair of pure white wings. Aziraphale had just held him for a few minutes when it seemed everything crashed down on his head.

Later, Crowley would deny it ever happened, but it did, and he was a consumate liar. The joy he felt had just vanished and over 6000 years of held in emotion from what had happened burst forth from him. He had clung to Aziraphale, as the angel seemed to be the only thing grounding him to reality, and he had broken down.

The next week when they met, they both ignored the last time they had been together. It was better that way. It was easier to live with, and he had to live with it alright...until the end of everything.

A/N - Well, thanks go to the two people who actually reviewed my other story. I know...I'm not exactly that good, but hey...perhaps thats not the side I am on, lol. Alright, bad joke.

Please r/r. I know it is OOC, but I am a sucker for seeing men crying in stories, especially if they are the type that usually wouldn't.


End file.
